


Another Way to Fly

by Leela



Series: Dragon's Ink [2]
Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: HP: EWE, M/M, Magical Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-08
Updated: 2010-04-08
Packaged: 2017-10-08 19:22:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/78732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leela/pseuds/Leela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlie wanted Draco. Draco wanted him. Everything else and everyone else could go Splinch themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another Way to Fly

**Author's Note:**

> **Betas**: Perverse Idyll, Angela Snape, and Eeyore9990  
> **A/N**: Once upon a time, I took a poll and offered to write a sequel to the "winning" story as a Hanukah gift for my f-list. To my great surprise, [Dragon's Ink](http://archiveofourown.org/works/78730) won. The sequel took me longer to write than I expected, but hopefully it's worth the wait.

Somewhere along the line, Charlie had lost the trick of being alone. He'd become used to the coming and going, the bickering and making up, the presence of a second person in his life, his home, and his heart. He wasn't sure when it had happened, couldn't put a tick mark on a calendar to identify the day, the month, or even the year. But it still left him sitting by himself, an open book abandoned in his lap, quill and parchment on the table beside him, and not even a line drawing for the tattoo design he was supposed to send to a customer before he left for the Burrow in a couple of hours.

He'd have to send his apologies instead and reschedule the appointment, because he had a feeling that he wasn't going to be able to get the artwork completed in time. The realisation lodged somewhere in Charlie's chest; its weight made it impossible for him to ignore the empty chair opposite his own, the lack of complaints about the way his feet were propped on the coffee table, and the sensation that something — _someone_ — was just out of reach.

Draco had been visiting less and less often. For the past few weeks, he hadn't even bothered coming up with an excuse. He'd just fire-called or owled about an hour before they were supposed to meet to let Charlie know that he wouldn't be coming over, not giving Charlie a chance to protest or come up with alternate plans.

Still, he hadn't cancelled their plans to spend the next morning together. Not yet, at least. If he did — well, Charlie had just about had it. One way or another, Draco Malfoy was going to explain what was going on, and then Charlie was going to fix it.

He wanted Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy wanted him. Everything else and everyone else could go Splinch themselves.

o0O0o

  
"You'll bring him over soon." Charlie's mum patted his shoulder as she went past to sit in her armchair next to their dad. She was still too thin, eating barely enough to keep body and soul together, but at least she was cooking again. And knitting, Charlie discovered when she settled in her chair and Summoned her needles and yarn from the bag at its side. The rhythmic clicking was strangely comforting.

Ron made a rude noise and objected, "If he doesn't want to—"

"Then it's up to Charlie to persuade him." Arthur snapped his paper in emphasis. "Sunday dinner is for all of the family, Ron, not just the ones who meet with your approval."

"You can't seriously think the ferret—"

"Grow up already," Charlie snapped. "His name is Draco. I've had more than enough of you calling him a ferret."

"Fert, fert, fert, fert, fert," Victoire chanted, bouncing and clinging to Harry's hands to keep herself on her feet.

"For Merlin's sake, Ron, watch what you're saying." Harry tried to distract Victoire by Transfiguring a serviette into a red snake with gold banding around its body and making it hiss and dance around for her.

"_Fert_," Victoire announced, grabbing the snake and hugging it to her with a beaming smile that exposed the gaps where some of her teeth still hadn't come in.

"You know you're going to have to get her a snake now." Bill ruffled Victoire's hair. "She's going to be devastated when that one turns back into a serviette."

"Why hasn't someone invented a Permanency Charm or something?" Harry extricated the snake's head from Victoire's mouth and dried it as she waved it around and chanted, "Fert."

"Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration," Ron said. Then, as everyone, including Charlie, gave him a look of disbelief, he added defensively, "I did learn _something_ in school."

"Of course, you did." If she'd been close enough, Charlie thought that their mum would have patted Ron on the head.

"Hermione's group is working on an exception to Gamp's Law and Melwycke's Corollary." Percy's eyes shone as he looked up from his book.

Bill frowned. "I don't know that that's a good idea. There have to be limits to what magic can do, or we could all end up like Voldemort or worse."

When no one flinched at the name, one side of Charlie's mouth twitched up into a lopsided smile. If _his family_ could get beyond the fear and trauma, maybe there was a chance for him and Draco after all.

"Limits, yes, which is why they're including the Corollary," Percy said, nodding to himself and launching into a long-winded explanation of Hermione's research. "The problem is really quite fascinating..."

"Now he's done it," George leant over the back of the settee and whispered into Charlie's ear. "I don't suppose you can persuade Malfoy to come over next Sunday? I'd hate for Ron to win."

"We're the current bet?"

"Picking's are slim these days, what with Hermione and Percy putting off their wedding until after she leaves university, and Ron breaking it off with—" George paused as if waiting for a response, and when no response came tried to shrug but only managed an uncontrolled twitch of his arm "—whatever this last girl's name was."

"Fair enough," Charlie acknowledged. "Although, I may just let Draco claim bettee's privilege and tell you how to spend that money."

"Oooh... that would be brilliant." The sparkle in George's eyes was positively unholy.

Seeing it, Charlie vowed that he'd give Draco just about anything if it meant putting that look back on George's face. Not that he'd let Draco know about that. Charlie did have a bit of sense.

o0O0o

  
Thursday was a market day in Diagon Alley. Charlie had long ago learnt not to bother trying to sleep in, as the stallholders arrived early to set up in the square in front of Charlie's studio and down the centre of Victory Lane. He loved Thursday mornings.

At eight o'clock, he headed down the stairs and onto the street. He paused briefly to cast _Impervius_ for protection from the cold drizzle and then headed for his favourite stall, Millie's Coffee and Croissants. Hopefully, he could get information from Millie Bulstrode to go with his breakfast. All he had to do was work out how to ask her about Draco. Blunt questioning might not work that well with a Slytherin.

"Morning." Millie handed him a small cup at the same time she sent a bowl of organic yoghurt and granola and a pair of cappuccinos skimming over to Marjorie Malkin.

"Thanks." He smiled at her and tentatively offered, "Lovely hat today."

"One of my sister's specials." She smiled back and patted the blue and purple creation that wound around her head in intricate knots and whorls. "Got a better one for next market day. A true vintage find." A bell tinged, and she flipped the beaded dangles that hung down from her hat at him and went to serve another customer.

Closing his eyes and telling himself that he had to actually try in order to fail, Charlie raised his cup and drank. It wasn't the same roast that Irfan had served in Romania every morning, but the coffee was thick and sweet and tasted of mornings at the reserve. He wrapped his hand around the still-warm cup, held it to his chest for a moment, and then placed it on the stall.

"All right, Charlie?"

"It's good, Millie, as always."

"Here," she slid a plate bearing a croissant towards him, "try this. It's new, and I think you'll like it better than that black pudding atrocity you usually get."

"Nothing wrong with black pudding."

"Tell your arteries that."

Charlie winked at her. "My blood flow's just fine, and to all the right places, I'll have you know."

"For now." Millie tapped the plate. "Eat up and—"

An incoherent yell cut through the hubbub around them. Hand on his wand, Charlie spun around, placing his back to the counter. The usual noises and crowds filled the area; nothing and no one seemed out of place. Breathing a sigh of relief, he returned to his breakfast.

He lifted the top of the croissant, sniffed, and then examined the contents. Apples, he thought, with peaches and almonds. Honey, maybe, and something else he couldn't identify. No egg, no bacon, and definitely no black pudding. "I could try it," he said.

"But?"

"But..." Charlie paused, trying to decide whether this was a truly awful time to ask her about Draco.

"What do you want?" Millie crossed her arms over her chest and rested a hip against the counter. To his relief she looked amused. "Come on. Spit it out."

"I just want to know what's going on with Draco."

A thudding noise, coming from the same direction as the yell, was cut off abruptly, as if a Silencing charm had been cast.

"Annabel, take the counter," Millie ordered her assistant, who stopped refilling the coffee bins. A muttered word and a flick of Millie's wand opened a temporary door in the stall. She turned a shark-like, toothy grin on Charlie. "You want to know about Draco? Just follow me and find out what he puts up with just to visit you."

Brushing his hand over the dragon's tooth that hung around his neck, Charlie retrieved his wand from its holster and followed on her heels.

Millie stopped just outside the entrance to one of the narrow alleys that ran along back of Victory Lane and held the closest Apparition point to Charlie's shop. The expression on her face was something between a glare and a plea. "Put an end to this, Charlie Weasley, unless you want him to stop coming over here."

Charlie nodded. He'd always had the kind of imagination that drew him to danger — Quidditch, dragons, tattoos — and right about then his brain was in overdrive. So many things could be happening to Draco around that corner, and he could picture them all.

He strode past Millie and into the alley. Someone's rudimentary, badly cast wards shattered as he pushed through them, and noise rose up around him.

o0O0o

  
The alley was short, dark, and narrow. Rough brick walls rose up on either side. The top floors of each building jutted over Charlie's head, providing shelter from the drizzle and cutting out most of what little natural light there was.

Lamps over two of the doorways were still shining, providing just enough light for Charlie to see Draco with his back against a wall, wand in hand and a sneer fixed firmly on his face. His hair was disarranged in a way that Charlie had only ever seen in the mornings or after they'd been out flying. But it was the livid bruise on one side of Draco's face and the way he was clearly favouring his left side that made Charlie's temper run cold and fierce. Thank Merlin, caution had been drilled into him by dragons and war. Otherwise, he'd have gone rushing in.

It was six against one. Six bigger, rougher yobs against one Malfoy. Still, Charlie wouldn't have bet on them, if he hadn't recognised the apparent ringleader by the badly done Acromantula tat on his neck. That bloke was into inflicting pain. Charlie had kicked him out of his shop a month or so earlier, not wanting to sully his own magic with the taint of... _Fenwick_, the man's surname finally came to Charlie.

"Told you what would happen if you showed your face around here again, didn't I?" Fenwick preened for his friends as he swirled his wand in a gesture that would have done Gilderoy Lockhart proud. "We had enough of your kind around here in the war."

"Come on, then." Draco straightened up into a battle ready stance. "Or are you afraid to take me on by yourself?"

"Why should I do my friends out of a chance to get some of their own back, _Death Eater_?"

The others began jeering insults and threats at Draco. It wasn't until the first hex bounced off Draco's shield that Charlie moved, Millie at his side. As if they'd coordinated and planned it together, they stunned and bound everyone but Fenwick, casting _Expelliarmus_, _Petrificus Totalus_, _Incarcerous_, and other non-lethal, defensive spells.

After a Trip jinx led to a twisted ankle, Charlie strengthened his shields and focussed his own attack. In next to no time, Millie was guarding five petrified and bound teenagers. Her hat had unwound itself, but Charlie couldn't see any other damage, so he limped over to where Draco was standing with his wand on Fenwick.

"What the fuck was that for?" Draco demanded, clearly furious.

"Just evening the odds," replied Charlie. "Six against one didn't seem very fair."

"I had it under control." Draco kept his wand moving between Charlie and the ringleader. "I neither asked for nor required your interference."

"You should listen to your slag, Weasley—" Fenwick's voice went up a bit on the last word, as Draco dug his wand into Fenwick's throat "—and keep out of things what are none of your business."

"Up to your father's tricks, eh Malfoy." The interruption came from the entrance to the alley, where Fergus Quigley from Quality Quidditch Supplies stood at the forefront of a crowd of onlookers. "I'd let him go, if I were you."

Before Draco could let loose with a vitriolic response, Charlie observed, "You might want to use whatever brain cells Beating left you and find out what's going on before you start tossing threats around."

Anger bloomed red across Quigley's cheekbones, and he grated out, "Doesn't take a genius to see what's going on, with that Death Eater having his wand at Benny's throat, does it? And that one," he jerked his head in Millie's direction, "weren't much better, even if she doesn't bear You-Know-Who's Mark."

The rumble of agreement from behind Quigley alarmed Charlie. In an attempt to calm things down, he said, "What are you on about? The Death Eaters are all dead and buried. Voldemort's Legacy took care of that."

Too many people made a warding sign for Charlie's comfort, but before he could say anything, Draco said in a conversational tone, "War's been over for years, Quigley. Or didn't the news make it into the hole where you've been hiding?"

A growl escaped from Quigley, and he took a step forward. "Just what do you think you're accusing me of, Death Eater?"

Draco turned to Charlie. "I think you were right. Too many Bludgers to the head, assuming, of course, that he had a working brain to begin with." Then, before Charlie had even registered the movement out of the corner of his eye, Draco had flung up a shield and Fenwick's hex splashed purple and harmless off it.

Mutterings rose, as Fenwick scrambled away to stand next to Quigley, and the crowd moved closer. Too close for Charlie's comfort. He glanced over at Millie, who mouthed, "Every time."

Easy for her to say, he thought, when Draco was busy antagonising everyone in the vicinity.

"Was minding my own business when the bastard attacked me," Fenwick was saying, as he pointed at Draco.

"Oh, please," sneered Draco. "As if I'd soil myself with the likes of you."

The whole mess was one step away from getting ugly again, especially with the yobs at Millie's feet starting to shake off the effects of the spells that were keeping them down. Not an Auror in sight, either — bloody useless gits that most of them were.

"Death Eater." This time the accusation didn't come from Quigley or Fenwick. It came from one of the people who were crowding close to Millie and her charges.

Taking a firm hold on Draco's arm, Charlie countered, "Who says?"

Draco tried to shake him off, but Charlie held on. "Come on. You're accusing him of being a Death Eater. I think he has a right to know what you're basing that on. Especially since the Dark Mark turned out to be a death sentence for every Death Eater who survived Voldemort."

Whispered words rustled through the watching people, but it was Quigley who finally said, "Prove he isn't, then. Only members of his family who weren't Dark Wizards were the ones they disowned. And he wasn't disowned, was he?"

"Never seen his arm, either." Florence Fortescue manoeuvred through the crowd to stand next to Quigley. "Even in that heat wave last summer, he wore long sleeves."

"The Ministry cleared him," someone else argued.

"And you trust everything that comes out of the Ministry?" Quigley shot back.

"That's it?" Charlie interrupted, lacing his voice with disbelief. "You haven't seen the Mark, but you assume it's there. Even though the last surviving Death Eater died a month ago?"

"Could be he just hasn't died yet," Fortescue said. She squinted at Draco. "He does look a bit sickly."

"Prove it," Fenwick challenged him, the smirk on his face making it clear that he didn't think they could.

"Yeah, prove it," echoed from among the watchers, some of whom moved perilously near to Millie and her charges.

"No," Draco protested, attempting to pull his arm from Charlie's grasp. "Don't do this, Charlie."

"Are you mad?" Charlie clenched his free hand into a fist to prevent himself from doing something he'd regret. "Look at those people."

Looking down his nose at their audience, Draco announced, "I do not bear the Dark Mark."

"Well, that helped." Stepping behind Draco, Charlie took a firm grip on his left hand and began to undo the buttons of his sleeve.

"No! Don't!" Draco struggled and tried to free himself. "It's none of their business."

"Shhh," Charlie murmured in his ear. "I don't want to hurt you, but you have to stop hiding this. Be fucking proud of it."

"It's mine. They have no right."

"No, they don't. But it's not worth giving up your life."

"But I don't have anything else." Draco's whisper was as close to a plea as Charlie had ever heard coming from him. "They took the rest: my home, my name, my parents. Charlie, this _is_ my family."

The weight in Charlie's chest ached. He'd have given almost anything to let Draco keep this one part of his family to himself. But he wouldn't give up Draco. "I know, I do, but your father didn't give you this so you could die for it. He gave it to you because he wanted you to live." Charlie closed his eyes and added, "I want you to live."

Instead of responding, Draco sagged back against Charlie and turned his face into Charlie's neck. The brush of his lashes as he closed his eyes was soft against Charlie's skin. Taking that as acquiescence, Charlie loosened his grip. He undid the rest of Draco's buttons and folded his sleeve back. Then, cradling Draco against him, he displayed the tattoo on Draco's left arm. "Is this what you wanted to see?"

Charlie stared coldly at the people who filled the alley, making sure to meet as many eyes as he could. "Do you even know what this means? Do you understand what it says about this man?"

"It's a Family Claiming Tattoo." The capitalisations and the awe were audible in Quigley's voice. "I didn't think anyone put their heirs through that any more."

This time the mutterings were louder, but more respectful.

"So what?" Fenwick said.

"So, he's not a Death Eater. Couldn't be. Not with that," replied Quigley "He'd be dead if he were."

"It's just a bloody tattoo. Anybody can get one."

"You try an' get one of those, then. Odds are the ritual'd kill you by the end, slowly and painfully." Quigley cuffed Fenwick around the head. "Malfoy or not, the man deserves some respect."

A chorus of "yeahs" followed that, and Charlie relaxed — a bit too much. Draco wrenched free of his grip, ran for the marked Apparition circle, and Disapparated with an angry crack.

"Fuck," Charlie swore.

"Only if you can get him to forgive you." Millie smirked at him.

Before Charlie could say anything else, the Aurors arrived, and they had another set of problems.

o0O0o

  
Charlie might have been able to follow Draco a lot faster, if he hadn't had to go back to Auror Headquarters with Millie to ensure she wasn't arrested for assaulting the yobs who'd been threatening Draco. Three hours later, at her suggestion, he Apparated to Malfoy Manor.

If he hadn't been aware that he'd crossed a line when he'd displayed that tattoo, the Manor made it clear. The ornate, viciously barbed and warded gates were closed and locked. The gatehouse was dark and felt actively hostile, much like the welcome Charlie was expecting to get from Draco.

However, Charlie wasn't about to give up that easily. Pulling out his wand, he tapped the sequence Draco had taught him on the gate panel. There was a brief pause, followed by a crackle, and then a squeaky voice said, "Mr Malfoy is not being here presently. Sir is to leave a message and be on his way."

A snort of laughter escaped from Charlie. It was just so typically Draco. "It's Charlie Weasley. Tell Draco that I'm..." he paused. Then, when he couldn't think of any way to put what he needed to say in a message he'd trust to a house-elf, he added, "Tell him I stopped by and would like to talk to him."

Before he could continue and make a worse fool of himself, Charlie Apparated.

He landed in darkness. His boots thudded onto solid wood.

"_Lumos_." One corner of his mouth curving up into a lopsided, rueful smile, he blinked at his surroundings and shook his head. He was damn lucky he hadn't Splinched himself.

He'd been thinking of going home and of being somewhere safe. Rather than going to the Apparition point nearest his flat, however, he'd ended up in the tree house that Dad had helped Bill and him build when they were kids. Bill had been tall, even at twelve, so there was enough room for Charlie to stand up with a foot or so of space above his head.

Perched high in one of the old oak trees in the orchard behind the Burrow, the little house was made from rough wood planks, hewn from the older trees in the orchard, and sealed against the elements by the same charms his dad used on the Burrow. A nest of blankets and cushions filled about half the floor. On the opposite wall, an old chest of drawers that listed to one side and was missing part of a drawer was propped up on books they'd stolen from Percy's bedside table. Posters and drawings of dragons and Quidditch players covered the walls.

Refusing to consider what his precipitous arrival in the tree house said about him and his current mood, Charlie used one too many Cleaning charms and Dust-Banishing charms on the cushions and blankets and then settled down on top of them.

He sat there for a moment, staring blankly at the opposite wall and fidgeting with his wand. He flipped it around with his fingers, twirled it, tossed it into the air and caught it again. Safe was all well and good, but what was he supposed to _do_ now that he was here? Flinging himself onto his back, feeling strangely reluctant to Apparate again, he stretched out and stared at an old, not very good sketch of a Hungarian Horntail that he'd drawn on the ceiling with magic chalk. Even at eleven, he'd been obsessed with them, attracted to their danger, unpredictability, and beauty.

The dragon flicked its tongue at him. He stuck his tongue out at it.

His chest ached with a homesickness he hadn't felt for months, not since he and Draco had started spending so much time together. And then the ache spread into the back of his throat.

He wished he could remember when he'd fallen so hard.

o0O0o

  
Charlie woke up to a dim light filling the tree house, blankets covering him, and Draco lying on top of the blankets, head propped on one arm, watching him.

"Hey," Draco said, his voice soft.

"Hi." Charlie rolled onto his side to face Draco. "How'd you get in here?"

Pushing himself to a sitting position, and placing more distance between them, Draco shrugged. "Bill."

Which Charlie should have known, he thought, since the wards wouldn't let anyone through except Bill and him and people they brought with them. "You were quiet."

"You were sleeping."

"Yeah." Charlie cleared his throat. "We need to talk."

"Yes."

The silence that followed Draco's agreement was uncomfortable in ways that silence had never been between them. Finally, unable to stand it any longer, Charlie said, "I'm sorry."

Draco arched an eyebrow.

"Stop that. I am."

"I'm sure you are, but not about the right things."

Sitting up so he could face Draco and not be forced to look up his nose — nostrils weren't anyone's best feature — Charlie placed his wand on the blankets in front of him.

Draco stared at it and raised his head to look into Charlie's eyes before pulling his own out of his holster and putting it down next to Charlie's.

"You would rather people believe you a Death Eater than show them your tattoo?" asked Charlie. And then he winced. He hadn't meant to sound quite so sceptical.

"I just wanted something of my parents for myself. And they took everything else." Sorrow laced Draco's voice. "Why should they get that, too? They had no right."

Not knowing what he could say that wouldn't make everything worse, Charlie reached out and cradled Draco's left forearm in his right hand, stroking his thumb over the tattooed skin. Draco shivered, and the sensation echoed in Charlie.

"But..." Draco sighed when Charlie stroked the tattoo again.

"But?"

"Your brother... and Harry... suggested that I might, perhaps, have overreacted a little." Placing his right hand over Charlie's thumb, Draco prevented it from continuing to move over the tattoo.

Charlie stared at their hands so he didn't have to see Draco's expression. "And I might have, as well." He paused for a moment, trying to work out which words to use. "Look," he finally said. "I'm useless at lying and not much better at hiding the truth behind a smokescreen. And when I was faced with people trying to hurt you... well, I might have been a bit overprotective."

"You think?"

"I do. Think, even." Looking up at him, Charlie couldn't help smiling. "Surprising isn't it?"

"Rather."

After a few moments of quiet, Charlie reached over and placed his left hand on Draco's jumper, over the heart of his dragon tattoo. "We all right, then?"

Draco nodded. "You're a lot of trouble, you know that?"

"I've been told that before." Charlie swallowed but didn't avert his gaze. If Draco was going to end this thing between them, he was going to have to look into Charlie's eyes when he did it.

"Worth it though, I think," said Draco.

Relief stole Charlie's breath away. All he could do was lie back and stare, waiting.

"But..." Draco's expression closed down, and his tone sharpened, becoming cold in a way that reminded Charlie of Lucius Malfoy. "Don't _ever_ so much as _think_ about forcing me to do something like that again. Not without talking to me first."

Charlie didn't consider refusing, but he did take a second or two to decide how to make Draco believe him. He tightened his grip on Draco's arm, pressing his thumb into the family claiming tattoo, and said, "Agreed."

The lick of power that ran through Charlie — through both of them if the dilation of Draco's pupils was any clue — was both acceptance and warning. The Malfoy family magic was going to hold Charlie to that promise.

Something lost and hopeless flashed through Draco's eyes, and Charlie understood. He released Draco's arm, reached up and curled his hand around the nape of Draco's neck, pulling him close enough that he could feel Draco's breath on his own lips.

"I don't care what that tattoo does," Charlie said. "I'll keep that promise because I want to make you happy. I want you, Draco Malfoy, with or without body armour."

Draco cleared his throat and said, sounding a little hoarse, "Since you apparently don't even know what body armour is, I'll just have to provide some for you. And in return," he smiled, "you'll get a Floo big enough for more than the occasional fire-call."

"Yeah," Charlie rasped in agreement, shutting down the guilt that rose up and threatened to swamp him.

Their kiss was slow and sweet. Charlie pulled his legs together when Draco moved to straddle him. Even with their clothes and the blankets between them, a shock of arousal swamped Charlie when their cocks aligned.

"Your turn or mine?" Draco sucked on the edge of Charlie's jaw and scraped his teeth over the sensitive skin.

Arching his head back to give Draco access to his neck, Charlie pulled his hand out from between them, slid it under the hem of Draco's jumper and over the warm skin of his side. His other hand went into the soft short hairs at the back of Draco's head, encouraging him to continue.

But Draco stopped and pulled back, giving Charlie a lascivious smile. "Mine. Definitely mine." Reaching back, he retrieved his wand and twirled it in one hand. A whispered word and the buttons on Charlie's shirt slipped out of their holes and the shirt fell open. Draco hummed with approval and kissed the nose of the dragon on Charlie's shoulder. Warmth flowed across Charlie's chest as she flamed her approval.

Removing their clothes and getting Draco under the blankets required very little time and a lot of wriggling as they tried not to let it interfere with their kisses. Eventually, though, Draco was beneath the blankets and Charlie, and they were both slick with the lube Draco had brought and more than ready.

Charlie lost himself in Draco, in touching Draco, in the ripples and flutters of ink and skin, magic and muscle. Elation filled him, as he sank into Draco, as Draco opened for him, as they kissed and stars created pinpoints of heat against his chest.

"Move," Draco ordered. His legs slid down Charlie's arms, and his heels dug into Charlie's sides. "Now," he added, lifting his lips as much as he could with Charlie all but lying on top of him.

This was different, Charlie recognised and then forgot again as Draco dug his fingers into the muscles of Charlie's back and the tail of one of Charlie's dragons seemed to catch on the vines of Draco's tattoo.

Soon, Charlie was lost in the rhythm of in and out, rising and falling, adding a twist at each meeting of their hips that made sure his cock dragged over Draco's prostate. When Draco moaned into Charlie's mouth and his head went back, Charlie moved his lips down to cover the pulse of Draco's jugular, touching the fragile skin with the tip of his tongue. Faster and faster, they moved. Dragon wings beat against his chest and stomach. Fingernails, vines, and snakes rasped down his back. Power and magic curled and twisted around them both.

Clutching at Charlie's arms, Draco held his arse up and ground his cock against Charlie's pelvis and stomach. "Need," Draco said, and "Harder," and "Fuck."

Charlie growled and raised himself, sitting back on his heels, pulling Draco with him. When they settled, Charlie's cock was deep inside Draco's arse and he was on the edge of orgasm. His sac was drawn up tight against his body. Every twitch of Draco's arse muscles, even the slightest movement, sent a wave of feeling crashing through him.

They stayed there for a moment, unmoving, foreheads pressed together, panting into each other's mouths, hands clasping each other's forearms.

Then Charlie surged upwards, and Draco pressed downwards. Draco growled, "Mine."

And Charlie was lost in the pulsing of his orgasm, the squeeze of Draco's arse around his cock, the warmth of Draco's come against his skin, and the aching reverberation of magic.

o0O0o

  
A clunk from outside brought Charlie out of a sleepy haze. He glared at the door, but no one entered. Instead, the noise — footsteps — thudded down the ladder and faded away.

"Make whoever it is leave," Draco said into Charlie's chest.

"They already have."

"Good, because I'm not ready to share."

"Do you ever share?"

Draco raised himself on one elbow and looked directly into Charlie's eyes. Placing his hand at the base of Charlie's neck, so his fingers were at one side and his thumb at the other, he said, "Not unless someone forces me."

Pulling Draco down, Charlie let his lips and tongue tell Draco how he felt. Sorry, he thought as they kissed, not that he'd done it, but for how much it had hurt Draco.

Afterwards Draco nestled into Charlie's side, one hand toying with the hairs that surrounded Charlie's navel. Charlie stroked circles on Draco's back and said, "You know we'll have to go out there at some point. I'm sure my mother knows we're here by now."

"We could Apparate away."

"But we won't." Charlie was ready to remind Draco that he wasn't willing to hide, that he couldn't separate his family from his love, when Draco interrupted his thoughts.

"Fine. If you answer a question for me."

Relieved at not having to argue his case, Charlie said, "Anything," and then wondered if he should have qualified that just a little bit.

"That wonky dragon on the ceiling, why does it keep sticking its tongue out at me?" Draco laughed.

"Means Nessie approves of you."

"Nessie? What kind of name is that for a dragon?"

Charlie glanced up at the dragon he'd created so long ago and smiled when she flipped her tail at him. "It's short for Clytemnestra. She always tells the truth, just not in a way anyone can understand. I thought it fit her perfectly."

"What does she do if she doesn't like someone?"

"Hides and pretends they're not there." Charlie grinned as he remembered screaming fights in French. "Bill used to bring Fleur, his ex-wife, up here all the time, and she always accused him of lying when he said there was a dragon on the ceiling. He still doesn't understand why she couldn't see Nessie."

"And Harry?"

"Keeps trying to speak Parseltongue to her."

"I'm sure Bill likes that."

"Oh, he does." Charlie paused and then, knowing Draco would understand that he meant the agreement to walk into the Burrow with him, said, "Thank you."

"You're going to owe me afterwards, though."

"Oh?"

Mischief brightened Draco's eyes and curved his lips into a smile. "Just wait until you see how the Weasel reacts when I call him Ron and tell him how great it is to be part of his family."

Nessie balanced on her tail, and Charlie twined his fingers into Draco's and squeezed. Falling, he thought, was just another way to fly.

~fin~


End file.
